


Damn Candle

by Gageta



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angelo's Restaurant, Gen, POV John Watson, Platonic Relationships, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gageta/pseuds/Gageta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I have to deal with it, I would no be free unless I do not speak about it. «Doesn’t it bother you?»</i><br/><i>«What?»</i><br/><i>Fantastic, he is not satisfied of me talking about it, he wants me to acknowledge it! «All these... all these ideas about us.» I grumble ashamed. I look away to avoid blushing.</i><br/><i>«No.»</i><br/>John thinks about things he shouldn't. He only has that candle to blame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn Candle

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt to translate one of my fanfiction in English.  
> I’m going through a bad writer’s block in these months so it came up to me the idea of translating fanfictions, just for being busy with something that doesn't belong to real life, I think.  
> This is the first one I wrote in this fandom, over two years ago, after seeing seasons one and two. Back then I wasn't shipping Johnlock yet, as you can see, and this is a sort of general thought about that ship seen from John's point of view. I won't say more than this.  
> And in order to improve my English, please, let me know of the mistakes I made. Also, I’m looking for someone to be a sort of “English beta-reader”, just for being sure about what I publish on this site. If you’d like to read and correct something, write me on my Tumblr: (http://gageta.tumblr.com/).  
> Hopefully, more to come soon...ish.
> 
> A special thank to spelacchiotto and Giulia for help and beautiful advices. This is the link to the original Italian version: (http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2082525&i=1).  
> Please let me know if you liked it :-)

«Let’s go, Sherlock. I’m not hungry anymore.»  
His light blue eyes quizzically stare at me.  
I stand up, I do not want to stay here to explain the meaning of the candle that Angelo has just put on the table between us. I must remember not to come here again, not with him: I have already tried to explain a hundred times to that dude that Sherlock and I are just flatmates and nothing more.  
I am starting to hate all the glances they shoot at us: we are only friends, nothing more. Not even Sherlock thinks of me as his friend.  
We hail a cab. I am looking forward to a cup of milk and biscuits watching a new episode of Doctor Who.  
He is sitting quiet and he is thinking. Of what? I do not know, I do not even want to know. Maybe of the case of the three Garrideb? It could be. Of Lestrade’s useless efforts for Gloria Scott’s case? Maybe, too. Of the corpse that is waiting at Bart's? I do not think so. Of that god damn candle? No, I am thinking of that. He does not think of that stuff.  
We come in the flat and he keeps being quite. I have to admit that his company is quite relaxing at least, when not considering his exceptionally annoying habits... I just wish he played the violin at more reasonable times. However, what am I saying? My life with him is... exciting. Oh, for God's sake!  
_Damn candle._  
We go upstairs and we walk by Mrs. Hudson's flat. She has been the first. I remember my expression when she asked us how many bedrooms we would want. Back then I did not understand, that idea did not even cross my mind. What the hell am I thinking of?  
_Damn candle._  
Sherlock sits down on his armchair and goes into his Mind Palace while I’m switching the tv on.  
It must be a twist of fate.  
«Gay.»  
«What?»  
«The journalist, he’s gay.»  
Of course. I would like to ask him what he deduced that from but I am afraid that the discussion would turn for the worst, so I just shut up.  
But it seems that he wants to talk, maybe because he did not want me to watch the episode. He hates Doctor Who. Well, he generally hates watching tv. I am wondering how he would survive without his cases. I change subject when I realize that he might invent them just to do something. I cannot picture him killing someone. Or maybe it is just me that do not want him to do it? Maybe.  
«I was wondering why you told me you were hungry and then going away in front of dish full of pasta.»  
Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock! Why cannot we talk about something else?  
«I'm wondering why you are so interested in that…» I try to shut down the discussion.  
He stares at me. Well, he is tormenting me. It feels like being stabbed in the chest every time he looks at me. «Because it's illogical»  
Well, Sherlock, I shouldn't even asked you. «Because I wasn't hungry anymore.»  
«And so why are you eating biscuits?»  
I sigh. I cannot help it. «Because, yes. I was in the mood of eating biscuits and not pasta, are you happy now?»  
He does not answer me, but I know that he is not. In the meantime I am not able to remember that dish of pasta...  
_Damn candle._  
«The boy in the underground... He commits suicide.»  
I switch the tv off, since it seems that I will not be able to watch it tonight.  
«And how do you know it?»  
«Facebook.»  
I smile. «Did you find the password?»  
He nods. «Ordinary. His boyfriend's name.»  
His boyfriend. Maybe it is time for me to go to bed. But it is late. He has noticed my embarrassment. And he grins.  
«Why are you grinning?» I could not have made a worse question.  
«’Cause it’s the second time this evening I see that look on your face.»  
Fantastic. He already knew, he just wanted to be certain with that trick.  
_Damn candle._  
I have to deal with it, I would no be free unless I do not speak about it. «Doesn’t it bother you?»  
«What?»  
Fantastic, he is not satisfied of me talking about it, he wants me to acknowledge it! «All these... all these ideas about us.» I grumble ashamed. I look away to avoid blushing.  
«No.»  
I look up, astonished.  
«I don’t mind what others say, John.»  
Oh, this is it then.  
«Well, I do. Why is it so complicated to understand that we are just friends?» I say. «Just flatmates.» Better.  
Sherlock looks bothered. «People think anything they want.»  
«And they are wrong.»  
«People are stupid.»  
«Thank you.»  
He snorts. «The people, John.»  
I grin to myself. «Do I have to take it like a compliment?»  
«You are a friend of mine, not the people.»  
«That’s it.»  
Minutes pass, no one speaks.  
I get up and head to the kitchen to wash the mug and when I go back he is using the laptop. I am going to turn and going to brush my teeth when I realize that that is my laptop.  
«My laptop.» I say, bored.  
«Louise wrote.»  
This is too much. I spring towards him.  
And someone said that bad luck does not exist, that is a subjective thing. Well, I would like to know who put that shoe there.  
I trip on it, fall forward, land on him. I could just stand up and swear at the shoe, but I have too many thoughts in my head.  
_Damn candle._  
I stare up at him, our faces just a few inches away. He does not move and stares back at me. I think that it would make a very little effort to lean in and kiss him.  
Fuck, am I really thinking about that?  
_Damn candle._  
And then I hear a little scream coming from the doorway.  
I jump up on my feet in a blink, just in time to see Mrs. Hudson disappearing down the stairs, muttering something about how sorry she is for interrupting us. I feel a slight headache coming.  
And Sherlock chuckles.  
And I am sure I get more red than a ripe tomato.  
This is too much.  
«Now, who is going to explain to her that I just tripped?» It is better to laugh at it.  
Sherlock makes his enigmatic smile. «I don’t mind.»  
I need to hold me back from punching him in the face. «I do.»  
«Then tell her.»  
I already know it would be useless. Who can believe something like that when you have just seen someone about to kiss his flatmate?  
Sherlock looks amused.  
And I know for sure that from now on I will not be able to watch him in the eyes like I did before, that I will not ignore others’ comments without blushing, that Mrs. Hudson now will always knock before coming in.  
Yet, his lips were so close… Fuck, no.  
_Damn candle._


End file.
